


You Better Watch Out

by solomonara



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU
Genre: Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas fic, Damian Wayne is Robin, Dick Grayson is Batman, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Nosebleed, Santa Claus - Freeform, Secular Christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 01:19:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17132303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solomonara/pseuds/solomonara
Summary: Damian takes Santa Claus very seriously.





	You Better Watch Out

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by: <http://solomonara.tumblr.com/post/181362023789/incogneat-oh-bene-violence-incogneat-oh>  
> and the fact that at some point DC did make it canon that Santa Claus visits Darkseid every year to personally hand him a piece of coal.
> 
> You can place this wherever you like in canon, but I like to think it's the first Christmas Dick and Damian spent as Batman and Robin.
> 
> Thanks to [DragonSorceress22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonSorceress22/pseuds/DragonSorceress22) for staying up late for an impromptu beta <3

**You Better Watch Out**

When Damian came upstairs from the bunker late one evening, he found Dick in the great room surrounded by cardboard boxes, humming to himself while he dug through one. Every once in a while he'd sing a few lines under his breath, then go back to humming. Damian watched silently as he pulled out a snowglobe, then a wood carving of a reindeer, then an extraordinarily pointy silver Christmas tree as long as his forearm. All of these he set aside on the floor around him. Then, apparently having not found what he was looking for, he dragged over the next nearest box and pried it open.

Dick immediately brightened and pulled out a kelly green stocking with a red bird stitched into it. Dick's name was embroidered across the top cuff. He grinned and dove back into the box for the rest.

" _He sees you when you're sleeping,_ " Dick sang absently, then hummed a few lines before picking up the lyrics again. " _He knows if you've been bad or good…_ "

As Damian watched he trailed off, the pleased look on his face fading with the song into a melancholy Damian recognized too well lately.

"I did not realize Christmas carols were meant to be threatening," Damian said, stepping into the room. The expression on Dick's face vanished instantly under a grin as he looked up.

"They're not," he said.

"I believe the one you were singing goes something along the lines of 'Be good, or else there will be consequences,' does it not?"

"Well, sure," Dick said, sitting back on his heels. "But the consequences are 'no presents,' so it's not exactly dire in the grand scheme of things."

"Hm," Damian said, noncommittal. "What are you doing?"

"I just realized, it's Christmas Eve and here we are without stockings," Dick said. "So I went over to the manor to see if I could find them but I didn't know which box they were in so I just brought them all."

"Stockings."

"Yeah. To hang over the fireplace?"

"I'm familiar with the imagery." Damian came to stand next to Dick and peered down into the open box. Bruce's stocking looked back at him. "Ah."

"Yeah, well. You need one of your own. There might be a blank one in one of these, we can put your name on it later and—"

"Why," Damian interrupted.

"Why what?"

"I do not need a stocking," Damian said.

"Would you prefer a shoe? That's traditional, too. Actually I bet your Robin boots would hold a lot," Dick said with a mischievous grin.

"No," Damian said. "All of this is unnecessary."

"Sure it's necessary. Where will Santa put your presents?" Dick asked, standing and brushing off his knees.

"Santa?" Damian echoed. "You— that isn't— Santa isn't _real_?" He'd meant it to be declarative, an obvious fact pointed out to demonstrate the patent absurdity of Dick's statement and to make it clear that Damian was not a child to be fed pleasant fantasies. But this was Dick speaking to him, and while occasionally silly, Dick generally took Damian seriously. So it came out as a question.

"Well you don't have to believe in him, but I'm sure he believes in you," Dick said with a shrug. He bent and plunged his hand back into the box and, sure enough, dragged out another stocking, this one with no name on it. It was clearly meant to be decorative, much more heavily embellished than either Dick's or Bruce's, and without even a space for a name at the top. "It's not very 'you', but it'll do for this year."

"Do you really expect me to believe," Damian said with narrowed eyes. "That someone is going to come here, tonight, while we sleep, and leave presents? Based on how _good_ we've been?"

"You can believe what you want," Dick said. He took his stocking and the decorative one over to the mantle, scooping up two hooks he'd discovered earlier, and placed them at either end. "But if you don't go to sleep soon, Santa won't come."

"I… of course," Damian said distantly, mind whirring.

Dick looked away from his handiwork, attention pricked by Damian's sudden pensiveness. "Hey. Damian. It's not— Don't let the 'good' thing hang you up, okay?"

Damian blinked at him. "What?"

"The song, the whole Santa thing— it's not really about passing judgment, exactly. And even if it was, you _are_ good. I believe that."

Now Damian stared at him. He had been considering extra rooftop security measures and hadn't been prepared for one of Dick's heartfelt proclamations. "I— Thank you, Grayson, but your reassurances are  _also_ unnecessary." And, now that he thought about it, a little suspicious. "I will just… go to bed, then, shall I?"

Dick nodded encouragingly. "I'll do the same myself in just a bit."

Damian eyed him one more time, then turned and headed to his room.

 

Dick woke from a dead sleep with the bunker alarm on his phone flashing at him. "Murgh," he said. It was the silent alarm, and it wasn’t flashing red, so that meant someone had used a code to get in and it wasn't a break-in. He squinted at it. Damian. Surely he wasn't planning on going out on his own tonight?

Dick fumbled the phone toward him and batted at it until it called the bunker com system.

"Damian," Dick said. "What are you doing up? Or down, I guess."

"Do not concern yourself, Grayson. I simply could not sleep so I am familiarizing myself with a few of Father's older casefiles."

That sounded plausible and entirely innocent. Dick didn't like it at all. "Couldn't sleep, huh? That excited for Christmas?"

There was a pause that was longer than warranted and Dick sat up, suddenly alert. His comment had been designed to rile Damian up and send him huffing back upstairs to prove that he was _not_ excited for Christmas, like some _child_ , and he therefore could sleep _just fine_ , thank you very much. Instead, what Dick got was a cautious, "I suppose you might say that."

"I'm coming down there," Dick said, and rolled out of bed.

 

Less than a minute later the elevator door was sliding open in the bunker. Dick stepped out – directly into a fist.

Training took over and he dipped backward with the blow, ameliorating its effect. It still connected, and hurt like hell, but less so than it would have otherwise. Dick bent all the way back, until his shoulders were practically touching the ground, and watched his assailant sail over his head to land behind him in the elevator. Dick turned the backbend into a back-handspring and launched himself feet-first at—

Dick twisted at the last second, deliberately fouling his momentum, and crashed to the floor.

"Damian?" he said, rolling onto his back and sitting. "What the hell?"

"Grayson. My apologies. I thought you were an intruder."

"I _told_ you I was coming down!" Dick protested. His face felt wet. He put a hand under his nose and it came away red. Great.

"You are bleeding," Damian said. He stepped over Dick to get out of the elevator and hurried to one of the smaller first aid kits they kept stashed in convenient places around the bunker. "Allow me to take care of it, as it is my doing."

"No need to sound so satisfied about that," Dick said. It wasn't unusual, exactly, for Damian to beat him when they sparred, but it was rare for him to get the drop on Dick so completely. Dick stood, tipping his head back so he wouldn't bleed on anything. He pinched the bridge of his nose, careful not to swallow any blood that drained to the back of his throat.

"Here," Damian said, taking him by the wrist and leading him to a chair. "Sit." Dick complied and Damian dabbed at his nose, poking and prodding with more care than Dick had actually been expecting. A few saturated wads of cotton and gauze later and Damian declared him to be just fine, if a bit sticky.

"So what's with the warm welcome?" Dick asked, tipping his head forward slowly, a clean tissue at the ready in case he started bleeding again.

"The security camera in the elevator glitched. I thought it was malfunctioning and opted not to trust it. I… apologize. I reacted too quickly."

"Better safe than sorry," Dick said. "I'll take a look at that camera."

"No need," Damian said, moving to put himself between where Dick was sitting and the computer array. "You should go back to bed. And ice your nose, just in case. I'll shut down everything here and follow you up."

"Uh huh," Dick said. "I'm sure you'll be right behind me."

"Yes," Damian said. Then, looking like he'd swallowed a lemon, "Or Santa won't come."

Dick grinned at him. "All right, then. You promise you'll be up right after you shut everything down?"

"You have my word."

"Okay then, Damian. Good night. And merry Christmas."

 

Once Dick was safely away, Damian sat back in the chair before the main terminal. The results of his dip into his father's files glared down at him from several screens. Damian had not been disappointed; Batman did indeed have a file on Santa Claus. Its contents were not encouraging. Apparently the creature could, in fact, go anywhere, including the inner sanctum of Darkseid's Apokolips stronghold. Worrying, very worrying.

Even more worrying was the fact that no one seemed to _care_. There were no notes in the file on how to combat Santa Claus's powers, and Dick's attitude toward the whole thing was just plain wrong. Damian had, against his better judgment, come to respect Dick and even rely on him. His blind spot toward this clear threat was troubling.

Damian took the soaked gauze he'd used to clean Dick's nosebleed and began his testing. He would, of course, not break his word. He would go back upstairs just as soon as he shut everything down. And he would do _that_ right after he was done checking Dick's blood for toxins, hallucinogens, hypnotics, or anything else that might compromise his mental state.

 

An hour later and Damian had to admit there was nothing to be found. Dick was as healthy as he ever was. That, of course, did not rule out magic. Damian knew a few general wards that should guard against most magical incursions but he doubted they'd be enough for a threat of Santa Claus's caliber.

He was turning the problem over in his mind as he rode the elevator back up to the penthouse, thinking that his own library would be more help than anything in the bunker. When the doors slid open in the penthouse, though, Dick was waiting for him.

"Your word, huh?" Dick asked, leaning against the bookcase across from the hidden elevator, arms crossed. Damian crossed his own in retaliation.

"I thought you trusted me," he said.

"Should I have? What were you really doing down there, Damian?"

"Research, as I said." Damian stalked past Dick, heading for his room. Dick followed.

"And did you find what you were looking for?"

"No," Damian snapped, turning to face Dick. "I did not. Father has detailed notes on the weaknesses of every hero and villain he has encountered, contingency plans for each of them, but not for _him_. There's nothing in his database on how to handle this, nothing!"

"How to handle what?" Dick asked, eyebrows coming together. "Damian, what's going on?"

"There is no way to prevent the creature from entering at will and enacting whatever bizarre ritual he feels compelled to!"

"Hang on," Dick said. "Is this about Santa Claus?"

"Of course it is! You would be worried too if you weren't somehow under his Christmas spell."

"Okay," Dick said, one hand going to his forehead. "Okay. Just, time out for a second here. Come sit with me?" Dick gestured to a couch in the library and Damian grudgingly went to it. Dick sank down as well, angled toward Damian. "Look, Damian, Santa Claus isn't exactly a new phenomenon. It never bothered you before this year, did it?"

"We did not celebrate Christmas in the League. Though," he added thoughtfully. "I don't suppose they celebrate it on Apokolips either."

"What does Apokolips have to do with— you know what, never mind. Did you do anything in December? Any major holidays?"

"Midwinter festivals are for superstitious peasants," Damian said. "The only celebrations under the new order would be based upon my grandfather's life, and later upon mine when I was to inherit his rule."

"O…kay. That's different. Let's just set that aside to unpack later," Dick said. "And circle back to the bit about superstitious peasants. If it's just superstition, what's got you so worried?"

"It _isn't_ superstition. Father has a file. There are facts, dates. Santa Claus exists, he knows intimate details of our lives, and there isn't a security system in the world that can stop him. Perhaps with a year of study I might construct some magical barrier, but—"

"Slow down. Breathe."

Damian huffed to a stop.

"Thank you. It might help to think of it this way: Santa is a magical being, and those are bound by certain rules, right?"

Damian nodded.

"Santa can't hurt you. The worst he can do is leave you a piece of coal."

"Not according to the historic notes in Father's file."

Dick rubbed both hands over his face and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like _Thanks, Bruce_. "All right then, if you can't trust Santa, trust me. I would never put you in danger you were unprepared for. And I would not put you at risk lightly. You understand that, right?"

Damian nodded slowly. That was consistent with his experience with Dick so far.

"Good. Then, I'm just going to have to ask you to trust me when I tell you Santa Claus isn't a threat to you. Okay?"

Damian gritted his teeth. "If you say so."

"I do." Damian looked at his knees, lips pressed hard together. Dick let out a silent sigh. "Would it make you feel better if we stayed up all night and laid in wait for him?"

"…yes."

"Okay, partner," Dick said, hauling himself to his feet. "I'll grab some pillows. You go get the blankets. I think the fireplace is the most strategically sound place to set up camp."

"I concur," Damian said, springing up with far more energy than Dick had. "I've given some thought to the most advantageous set-up for a couch fort at that location."

"Have you."

"I have blueprints. I shall retrieve them and meet you at the fireplace. Keep in mind we will need at least two exits. And Grayson," Damian said. "Perhaps you ought to lay in rations."

"With or without marshmallows?" Dick asked, bemused.

"With, of course. We will need our strength." Damian vanished down the hallway, beelining for the linen closet.

"Of course," Dick said with a small smile. He glanced back at the stockings and the dark fireplace. "What's Christmas without a stakeout."

 

* * *

 

Dawn found Dick and Damian still sitting up, having made it through the entire night. It had been surprisingly difficult; though both were accustomed to whole nights with no sleep, staying awake in a cozy couch fort in pajamas was notably different from staying awake while chasing down criminals and running around rooftops. But they managed it and when the sun began its slow climb, Damian gave a satisfied nod.

"No sign of him. You were right, Grayson; we did not go to sleep and so Santa did not come."

"Yay," Dick said through a jaw-stretching yawn. "I think it's probably safe to go to bed now, then."

"Indeed. Good night, Grayson." Damian curled up right where he was on a couch cushion, dragging a throw pillow close. Dick thought he'd fallen asleep instantly, but then: "And thank you," Damian murmured, barely audible and slightly slurred. Dick smiled and firmly resisted the urge to ruffle Damian's hair. He collected their empty hot cocoa mugs and slid out of the structure they'd constructed in the great room.

The sun was already extending tentative fingers through the glass of the kitchen's enormous floor-to-ceiling windows and Dick, against all logic, felt himself waking up. He stretched and checked his phone while the mugs filled with water to soak.

One of their roof alarms had gone off in the night.

Dick frowned. The alarm was logged but definitely had not alerted them last night; they'd both been watching and listening for exactly that. He plucked a spare set of escrima sticks from where they were stashed behind the fridge, headed for the stairs, and slipped out onto the roof. The wind immediately blew his hair into his face and he shivered. The sunshine was deceptive; it was definitely December out here.

The roof was, of course, designed for a wealthy bachelor to hold terrace parties on. Not a speck of carefully brushed gravel accent path was out of place. No one was hiding behind the fake foliage. The only sign that anyone had been there at all was a large stocking lying flat on one of the poolside tables. Despite the howling wind, the stocking didn't so much as flutter.

Dick approached it with caution, but there didn't appear to be any strings attached. The stocking was red, with a yellow cuff and matching stitching marking the heel. A stylized bird – like the one on Dick's old stocking, but pointier, more like a raptor than a robin – was picked out in yellow and black. Damian's name was embroidered in black across the top.

There was a notecard sticking out of the stocking. Dick plucked it up.

 _Dick—_  
_The stocking is for you. Damian's present is my lack of presence, which I will be happy to grant him every year. Be good!_  
_— S.C._

Dick raised his eyebrows, then slowly rolled the stocking up and shoved it into the pocket of his pajama pants. He'd bring it out next year and tell Damian he'd had it made. Damian would scoff and roll his eyes at Dick's sentimentality and then they'd build a blanket fort and keep a lookout for Santa Claus.

Next year.

Dick was slightly surprised to find he was looking forward to it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas - thanks for reading!


End file.
